


Yellow

by adelaidebabe (soulless_slut)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Dom Derek, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Safeword Use, Safewords, Slight Coercion, Sub Stiles, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation, ish, omg i can't believe i forgot that tag sheesh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_slut/pseuds/adelaidebabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s like cold water being splashed on him. The sense of <em>wrong</em> and <em>no</em> comes back so strong it feels almost like a punch to the gut. But Stiles ignores it because he told Derek it would work and he told Derek that he would like it and he told Derek it would be okay; Derek’s okay, Derek’s on board, so he just has to get through it and he can. He knows he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> for [this prompt](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=945449) on the kinkmeme: “Stiles is the type to try anything once especially when it comes to sex. He convinces his partner to try verbal humiliation play but fails to establish the necessary boundaries or overestimates his limits.
> 
> Anyway, the partner uses triggering words skirting actual degradation, which leaves Stiles reeling and depressed and in dire need of after care and comfort.”
> 
> okayyyy so this is my first time writing anything remotely smutty so yay for losing my writing-smut-virginity! ~~i may de-anon this at some point, but i'm still really nervous about this fic so~~ officially de-anoned! (also some of the formatting got messed up when i transferred it to ao3 but i'm too tired to fix it rn so, sorry)
> 
> also i myself have no limits (and therefore usually read Stiles as having no limits) so it was challenging for me to figure out what limits he could have. i hope this lives up to expectations~

He can do this. He’s going to be a suave motherfucker, okay, and he’s going to be open and honest; straight to the point. That’s always what works best with Derek, Stiles has discovered. Being straight forward, no leaving room for interpretation. He can do this. He can totally be suave.

“ _ Dereeeeeeek _ ,” he says, but it comes out more like a whine, and dammit. He was going to be suave. He was going to be calm, cool and collected, and other C words.

He still can be because Derek hasn’t looked up from the stove where he’s cooking dinner.

Stiles breathes in. “So,” he starts. “You know I’m always up to trying new things—” Derek snorts, causing Stiles to stop abruptly. “Hey, now! I’m totally up to trying new things, like—”

“Like when the pizzeria closed down so you had to go somewhere else and you bitched about it for a half hour?”

He feels vaguely affronted. “That’s because Marco’s Pizza has been my staple for years, Derek,  _ years _ . You can’t just close down and expect loyal customers to be okay with going somewhere completely foreign.”

“Or that time that Lydia made you go to that India place for your lunch date and you nearly had a fit? In public?”

“No food should be that spicy! And I didn’t have a fit in public!”

Stiles can’t see Derek, but he can totally sense that he’s rolling his eyes. Which is totally unnecessary and  _ rude _ . “That’s not the way Lydia tells it,” Derek says.

_ Well, Lydia should keep her mouth shut _ , Stiles thinks, but he doesn’t say it; Lydia might not be around, but she’d still know he said it. “Wait, why are all these tales about me not liking new things about food?”

Derek seems to ponder that for a second before shrugging. “You have a thing for food.”

Stiles pauses before conceding the point. Then he mentally shakes himself. “ _ Any _ way,” he says pointedly, “that was not where I was going with that.” He pauses. Breathes in.  _ Suave motherfucker _ . “I think we should try something…new.”

Derek freezes at that, so Stiles hurries on, suaveness be damned. “I mean in the bedroom! Like something new for sexy times! Not like, new you or new me, or new us, that would be ridiculous, I mean. I’ve thought about this a lot so before you instantly hate it, I just want to try it.”

Derek turns off the stove before turning around, giving Stiles his full attention. “Okay,” he says, but his tone is unreadable and his face is unreadable so Stiles doesn’t really know what Derek’s thinking. Which sucks. Wolfy powers would be super cool right about now.

“Okay,” Stiles breathes out. “Now, again, I would just like to reiterate that I’ve thought about this a lot so just please hear me out?” Derek doesn’t say anything so he continues on. “Alright, so…humiliation. I want…I want to try verbal humiliation.”

“No,” Derek says, like it’s that easy, and Stiles…Stiles balks.

“Wait, what do you mean no?”

“I mean, no, Stiles.”

“ But  _ why _ ?” Oh and he’s whining again. Dammit, why can’t he be suave?

Derek sighs. “Because I don’t feel comfortable with it.” And his tone is final, a bit halting, and Stiles knows what that means.

Derek’s thinking about Kate again.

It had been difficult in the beginning to get Derek to even agree to  _ talking _ about doms and subs and scenes. Stiles had to assure him, a lot, that he wanted it, wanted to at least try it. So they started off small, bondage first with teasing and orgasm control. And sticking to frequent updates using the color system, before building their way up.

Derek didn’t want to be like Kate; Stiles assured him multiple times that he wasn’t.

Stiles exhales and then bites the inside of his cheek. “We don’t have to start out big,” he says. He can tell Derek’s about to shake his head, so he holds up a hand. “Please, Derek, I just…I just want to try it. If you don’t like it, we can stop.” He gets a raised eyebrow. “We will definitely stop?”

Derek sighs. “If  _ you _ don’t like it, too, Stiles. If you don’t like it, we stop. This goes both ways.”

Stiles grins. “But I’m gonna like it, I know I will. So…you’re agreeing?”

“Thinking.”

“So yes.”

“Maybe.”

“Which means yes, Derek.” Stiles doesn’t get a response. “Dude, c’mon, it’ll be fine. Remember, anything out of your comfort zone and we stop. It’ll be okay. You’ll like it, too, I know you will. You’ll start off slow and careful but you’ll get into it. It’s gonna happen.”

“ _ If  _ I agree.”

“ But you practically already did! C’mon,  _ Dereeeeeek _ , just this one time. For me.” Stiles bats his eyelashes, but he knows it comes across more comically than sultry. “We never have to do it again. If you want. Totally up to you, the ball is officially in your court.”

Derek sighs again, this time pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re completely sure you want to do this?”

“ Yes! One hundred percent, Der, I swear.” Stiles crosses his heart. “I’ve thought about it  _ a lot _ , and I wanna do it, I really do.”

He gets another sigh before, “Fine. But I’m going to be checking with you the whole time.”

Stiles grins even wider. “Totally perfect, dude, I got it. It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be perfect.”

—

Stiles hears the bedroom door open and close, and he nearly sags in relief. He’s face down on the bed, his arms above him, crossed at the wrists and tied through the bars of the headboard with one of their silk scarves. He just barely has the ability to grip the fabric. His legs are folded underneath him, propping his ass up. He hadn’t been left like this for a while, he’s sure—Derek only had to wash the dishes—but it’s felt like forever.

Derek’s voice is low when he asks, “Color?”

“Green,” Stiles says, and he most definitely doesn’t squeak when Derek’s hand comes down on his ass.

Derek massages the cheek a bit, before he moves away. Stiles strains to hear what he’s doing, assuming he’s grabbing the lube because that’s essentially all they need for this. Then he feels Derek settle on the bed behind him, feels the bed sink a bit that way. Both of Derek’s hands rest on Stiles’s ass, each gripping and massaging, and Stiles nearly groans. When Derek’s dry finger rubs against his hole, a barely there pressure, Stiles’s head drops and he bites his lip.

Then the pressure is gone and only one of Derek’s hands is rubbing at his lower back. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look like this,” he murmurs, and Stiles bites his lip harder.

The hand disappears and Stiles hears the telltale  _ click _ of the lube being opened. He has just enough control to not wiggle his ass, but he has no idea how long that’s going to last.

That’s usually the problem; he doesn’t last long before he’s begging when Derek teases him.

A dry finger goes back to lightly pushing on his hole and before Stiles can decide to push back against it, a lubed up finger replaces the dry one and slowly makes it way in. Stiles groans. “So gorgeous,” Derek says. “Just propped on the bed and waiting for me.” He crooks his finger a bit. “You’re always ready for me, right? All mine, my boy.” Stiles whimpers and Derek’s finger recedes before being joined by another. He twists them, scissors them. “Color?” he asks softly.

“ Green, so, so, so green right now, Derek,” Stiles breathes, twisting his hand around the scarf to grip it better. He keeps his head bowed and gives up trying to bite his lips when Derek brushes over his prostate. “Oh  _ fuck _ , Der.”

There’s a shocking slap to his left ass cheek that jars Stiles and the fingers in his ass, causing them to push more on his prostate. “Shit, sorry, sorry,” Stiles mumbles. “M’sorry, Derek.” He hears Derek’s light ‘ _ mm _ ’  and then his ass is getting massaged again, Derek’s fingers pulling out, leaving Stiles with a sense of  _ empty _ and  _ wrong _ . “Derek, Derek, I’m sorry, please, please, I need—I need—”

“I know, Stiles, I know,” Derek says. “I know what you need, baby, but you have to remember.”

“Not to call you Der, I know, Derek, I know, m’sorry.”

There’s a pause when Derek’s hands leave his ass before three fingers push into his hole, slick and feeling like absolute heaven that Stiles moans. “That’s it,” Derek murmurs. “Three fingers and you’re already moaning like a whore.” Stiles feels a jolt of pleasure at the word even as he feels his face flush. “You do this so well, baby, moaning on my fingers. I can’t wait for you to whine on my cock.” Stiles whines, then, as Derek gently rubs against his prostate again. He pushes back against Derek’s fingers until Derek places his hand on Stiles’s back, forcing him to stay stationary.

Derek plays a little longer, dragging more whines and moans from Stiles as he murmurs, “Such a slut, baby, barely been at it and you can’t wait to be filled,” and “My perfect little whore, right?” constantly teasing and barely brushing against Stiles’s prostate, while continuing to scissor his fingers. A hand reaches around and strokes down Stiles’s shaft and he bucks; Christ, he’d practically forgotten about his cock with all the attention Derek’s been paying to his ass. He feels the need to come hit him suddenly and he tries to pull away from Derek’s hand on his cock and his hand in his ass.

“ M’gonna come, Derek, stop, I can’t—I  _ can’t _ —”  He feels desperate, now, whining, because Derek never said he could come but he’s going to come so soon if Derek doesn’t stop touching him.

Suddenly Derek’s hands are gone, his cock feeling flushed in the cool air, his ass clenching at being empty. He whines again.

Derek’s hand rubs at his lower back again as he says, “So good, you’re so good, Stiles. What’s your color?”

“ Still green. Very, very green,” Stiles slurs. He feels the vibrations of Derek’s chuckle. He can feel Derek rearranging himself, hears the sound of clothing hit the floor and assumes it’s Derek’s shirt. He  _ hopes _ it’s Derek’s shirt. There’s a blunt pressure against his hole that he vaguely registers as Derek’s cock; the pressure increases and Derek murmurs, “C’mon, Stiles, just open right up, I know you can. You open up all the time for me. You’re always open.” Stiles feels a twinge of  _ something _ that slightly sobers him up, but he assumes it’s the slight ache that always comes in the beginning of getting fucked.

Derek bottoms out and stays there for a moment, asks, “Color?” and only begins to pull out and push back in when Stiles says, “Green,” in return. Derek’s forehead touches the back of Stiles’s neck as he fucks him slowly, and Stiles lets out  a long groan.

“ You’re so good for me, right? Always good for me.” Stiles nods and whimpers when Derek’s cock manages to hit his prostate. “You’re so perfect for me, Stiles, always so tight but open by the end of it, like a perfect whore. I’d bet you’d be open for anyone.” The twinge hits again and it hurts a bit more than before, but Stiles has no idea why. He ignores and tries to push back on Derek, to get him to move  _ more _ , move  _ faster _ . But Derek continues to fuck him slowly and deeply, seeming to purposefully miss Stiles’s prostate after he hit once, drawing groan after groan out of him.

“Der’k, please,” Stiles mumbles, and he tries to push back again.

“You’ll get what I give you, baby, because I know what you need, right? And you need to be worked over, opened up nice and wide on my cock.” A particularly hard thrust and Stiles whines, screwing his eyes shut. “How many others would you let fuck you on their cocks, Stiles? Bet you’d be open for anyone, spread your pretty little legs for whoever wanted you.”

That’s not…. Stiles knows his heart stutters, he can feel it for himself. So it’s not much of a surprise when Derek slows down even  _ more _ and then pauses. “Stiles? What’s your color?”

_ Yellow _ , he thinks.  _ I’m confused, yellow, yellow, yellow _ . “Green,” Stiles says, and even gives a little push back despite still feeling unsettled. Derek pauses for a moment longer, long enough that Stiles feels dread rise like bile in his chest, in his throat, and it dissipates when Derek gives a tentative shallow thrust.

Derek fucks him a bit faster, a bit harder, hard enough that it pushes Stiles up the bed a little. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses. “ _ Fuck _ , Derek, I—” He groans, his words coming out garbled.

Derek holds Stiles’s hips, tightly, and Stiles knows there are going to be bruises and he feels a small thrill. He wants to push back again, see if he can egg Derek on to go even faster, even  _ harder _ , but his hips are being held  _ tight _ .

“You’re so good, such a good little slut,” Derek says, his voice thick. “Open for me, open for anyone. I bet I could leave you tied up and have anyone come in and fuck you. Open little whore. Anyone’s cock would do, so long as you’re getting filled, right?”

It’s like cold water being splashed on him. The sense of  _ wrong _ and  _ no _ comes back so strong it feels almost like a punch to the gut. But Stiles ignores it because he told Derek it would work and he told Derek that he would like it and he told Derek it would be okay; Derek’s okay, Derek’s on board, so he just has to get through it and he can. He knows he can.

“It wouldn’t even matter if it was me,” Derek continues on. “You’re such a needy slut, my needy little slut. Open for anyone at anytime.” Stiles wants to shake his head no, wants to yell out red or maybe just yellow, but he can’t, he can’t because if he makes Derek stop, Derek will feel guilty and go back to thinking he’s like Kate, and Stiles can’t let Derek think he’s like Kate because he’s not—

“Open twenty-four seven should be tattooed on you—”

—but he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last, he doesn’t even feel liking coming anymore—

“—leave you in a biker bar, your legs would just automatically spread like the little whore you are—”

— he can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, and he doesn’t even know why, but it  _ hurts _ —

“—you’re so easy, baby, easy—”

“ _ Red! _ ”

It takes him a moment to realize that the word came from his mouth, that the reason he suddenly feels empty is because he  _ is _ empty, because Derek’s no longer behind him, he’s in front of him, untying the scarf and rubbing Stiles’s hands so his grip loosens. Stiles’s heart is racing and he knows he’s panting because he doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough oxygen and it isn’t  _ right _ , he messed up, hell, he  _ fucked _ up, he ruined everything—

“Shh, hey, hey, Stiles, I need you to breathe, okay, I need to focus on me, not on what’s going on in your head.” Derek. Derek’s voice. He sounds right next to him, but also far away; but Stiles can feel Derek’s arms around him, he can feel Derek’s bare skin against his, can hear his heart—Derek’s heart, which isn’t exactly at a resting pace, but it’s slower than Stiles’s.

Stiles breathes in and holds it, counts to five before he releases it. He registers Derek’s hand wrapped around his, so he turns his hand until they’re palm to palm before gripping Derek’s hand tightly.

It takes a moment, but Stiles can feel his breathing slow down, can feel his heart calm down. He opens his eyes and realizes he’s being cuddled to Derek’s chest; his own knees pulled up to his chest as he sits on Derek’s lap, Derek’s arms wrapped about him. He closes his eyes again, feeling exhausted. He’s a little bit thirsty, but he knows if he asked for water, Derek would have to leave and he doesn’t want him to leave.

He feels Derek nuzzle the top of his head, feels him breathing in. “Hey,” Derek says softly; he begins to lightly rub Stiles’s back. “Are you with me again?”

“Y-yeah.” Stiles nods and then burrows his head more into Derek’s chest.

He feels Derek exhale. “Jesus, Stiles,” is all he says, but Stiles feels his eyes water and he knows he seconds away from sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Derek pulls back for a second, to look at Stiles’s face, and then he’s pulling him back in tighter. “Shh, no, no, Stiles, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He kisses the top of Stiles’s head. Brushes away stray tears. “Shh….” Derek begins to rock him, all while murmuring, “You’re wonderful, Stiles, okay? You’re absolutely amazing, it’s all okay.”

Stiles’s cries die down eventually and it’s then that he realizes just how thirsty he is. He hiccups. “Derek…I need—I need water.” Derek nods and begins to shift Stiles onto the bed, but the boy cries out, winding his arms around Derek’s neck. “Y-you can’t—you can’t push me away, Derek, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me, I-I—”

Derek smooths a hand over Stiles’s hair. “Hey, no, I’m not leaving, I’m right here. It’s okay.” He pauses. “How about….” He slides an arm underneath Stiles’s knees and then an arm around his back; he lifts Stiles with him when he stands. “How’s that?” he asks. Stiles nods against his neck.

They make the trip to the kitchen, getting two bottles of water to bring back into the room with them and a few granola bars that Derek grabs as a last minute thought. Stiles didn’t seem like he would be letting Derek go anytime soon, and he knew that Stiles would end up hungry fairly soon.

It’s after Stiles finishes off both waters and two granola bars that he’s laying on the bed, turned so that he’s cuddling into Derek’s chest. His eyes are closed and Derek’s running his fingers through his hair, and Stiles knows he’s in danger of falling asleep soon.

“Stiles,” Derek says softly. “We have to talk. About what happened.” Stiles almost tenses, but he just doesn’t have the energy. Derek pauses, seems to pick his words carefully. “Why did you…push it?”

Stiles shrugs.

“Why didn’t you say yellow the first time you got uncomfortable? Why did you wait until you were about to have a panic attack?”

Stiles opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I didn’t…. You seemed like you were into it, enjoying it. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Derek grabs Stiles’s chin; tilts his face up to meet Derek’s. “Stiles. I enjoy what you enjoy. I don’t enjoy my boyfriend having a panic attack because he didn’t think he could pause the scene to discuss what was bothering him. I don’t want that happening again.” Stiles nods. “And we’re definitely not doing this again until you can sit down with me and tell me exactly what it was that bothered you. This was something new, Stiles, and that’s the point of using colors. They help establish limits.”

“I know,” Stiles says softly.

Derek lets go of Stiles’s chin and exhales. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to, but I know I did and I’m sorry.”

“Can you tell me what it was that bothered you exactly? So I can make sure it never occurs again, in any scene.”

Stiles closes his eyes and nods. “I didn’t like…” he begins in a whisper. “I didn’t like the thought of being fucked by anyone but you.” He opens his eyes and stares at Derek’s chest. “I only want  _ you _ and it didn’t—it didn’t sit well with me and then it only…got worse.”

Derek goes back to running his fingers through Stiles’s hair. “Okay,” he says. “I can absolutely promise that that won’t happen again, okay? You’re mine and mine alone; no one else’s to share. Alright?”

Stiles nods. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” he whispers. He pushes his way closer to Derek, exhales when Derek’s arm’s fold around him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And Derek kissing the top of his head again is the last conscious thought Stiles has for the night.

  
  
  


 


End file.
